Date: Fri, 18 Jan 2002 17:03:43 -0500
From: Writer Boy
Subject: jc's hitchhiker - part 53
Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:
1) If reading this is in any way illegal where you are or at your age, or
you don't want to read about male/male relationships, go away. You
shouldn't be here.
2) I don't know any of the celebrities in this story, and this story in no
way is meant to imply anything about their sexualities, personalities, or
anything else. This is a work of pure fiction.
Questions and commentary can be sent to "writerboy69@hotmail.com". I've
enjoyed hearing from all of you.
That said, on with the show, and back to the story in progress.
***
Lance waited anxiously outside of Justin's door, deciding whether or not he
would knock. He wouldn't have gotten this far if he hadn't been so pissed
off at Jack. He wasn't pissed so much as he was disappointed, disappointed
that Jack had allowed himself to lose sight of what was really important
because he had been stupid enough to listen to someone who only wanted to
hurt him. It was hard for Lance to stay mad at Jack for that, though, which
was why he had talked him through it. It was hard because Lance had done
the same thing. And now he needed to finally confront Justin, to lay it all
to rest, because he wouldn't be able to move on if he didn't.
Last night he and Howie had been sitting on the couch at Lance's apartment,
watching television, holding hands and leaning against each other. They had
been almost to the end of "The Iron Giant", of all things, and Howie had
started to sniffle. By the last ten minutes of the movie, Howie was in full
out tears, and Lance leaned over to kiss him on the cheek, and flick his
tears away carefully with his hand. Howie cried at any possibly, even
partially sad movie, a trait Lance found particularly endearing.
"I'm sorry," Howie sniffled, pressing against him, wiping his tears away on
Lance's shirt. "It's just kind of sad, you know?"
"Yeah, I know," Lance said, kissing him on the cheek again as Howie
snuggled against him.
Howie turned, smiling, and kissed Lance on the cheek. Lance leaned over,
and kissed him on the forehead, and then Howie leaned in and kissed him on
the cheek again, closer to his mouth. Lance leaned closer, letting his lips
just barely brush Howie's, and then Howie smiled and leaned up, pressing
his lips to Lance's. Lance felt their mouths pressing together, felt their
lips scraping softly over each other, and moaned a little, feeling Howie's
soft skin. He brought his hand up to the side of Howie's face, resting it
on his cheek, just above his jawbone, as he kissed Howie again, and then
Howie kissed him again, purring softly.
And then Howie's tongue had slipped into his mouth.
Into his mouth.
Inside him.
Lance stiffened up, going rigid, and Howie, sensing it, immediately pulled
away.
"Lance? You ok?" Howie asked, leaning back, making sure he was all the way
out of Lance's space. Lance looked at Howie, seeing the look of concern on
his face, and began to cry.
"I'm sorry, Howie, I'm sorry," Lance said, looking away.
"No, Lance, no, it's ok," Howie said, handing him a box of tissues from the
coffee table. "Lance, it's ok. Are you all right?"
"I'm sorry, Howie," Lance said again, reaching out for Howie's hand. "I'm
sorry, I just, I can't."
"It's ok, baby, it's ok," Howie said, squeezing his hand. "Come on. Let's
pop the movie out, and go have a snack, ok?"
"Yeah, ok," Lance said, following Howie toward the kitchen.
Howie always said it was ok, always held his hand and checked on him, but
every time Lance though he saw a little flash of disappointment in Howie's
eyes, under his concern. Howie never showed it, always told Lance that he
cared about him, and he'd wait until Lance was ready. He always told Lance
that, and Lance believed him, but for how long? How long would Howie be
willing to have a boyfriend who couldn't touch him, who couldn't do
anything besides hold hands, or kiss him? It had to stop. Howie deserved
better, and if he was going to stay with Lance, if he was going to keep
patiently waiting, then Lance needed to do something to change things.
Which had brought him to Justin's door, by way of Jack and Josh's. He
hadn't been planning to talk to Justin, but he realized while he was
talking to Jack that he had to. How could he sit and tell Jack to stop
being afraid, if he was? How could he tell Jack to let someone love him, to
stop being afraid of being loved, if he couldn't do it? How could he tell
Jack to stop blaming himself for things he hadn't done, when he still
blamed himself for what Justin had done to him? He couldn't tell Jack to
get up and solve his own problems if he wouldn't do it for himself, too.
Lance raised his hand and knocked on Justin's door. His heart was pounding,
throbbing in his chest, throwing itself against his ribs. He closed his
eyes and tried to calm himself down, but then he just gave up. If he was
afraid, fine, he'd be afraid, but he wasn't going to let that stop him. He
set his jaw, ground his teeth together, and raised his hand to knock again,
but then Justin pulled the door open from inside.
"Lance!" Justin said, eyes wide.
Lance stared at him, slowly lowering his hand. Justin had on a button down,
and Lance could see a white beater underneath, probably tucked into
Justin's baggy, belted cargo pants. A lot of clothes was good. It would
take Justin a little time to get out of that many clothes if he tried it
again, time Lance could use to get away. Justin was still cute, and Lance
still felt a little shiver when he looked at those blue eyes, or his chin,
or the short golden hairs on his head. Justin's face was expressionless, as
it so often had been these past few weeks, completely blank. Lance had
begun to think of him as Hollow Justin, because it wasn't just his face
that was blank. When Justin was around the guys, it was almost like he was
featureless. He only spoke when rarely spoken to, and didn't seem to
project any of that swagger that everyone was so used to, that had seemed
so ingrained a part of his character.
Yesterday, when the guys had asked him to ride with them so that they could
talk about what was going on with Josh and Jack, he had barely spoken,
waiting only until someone asked him a question. The only time he had
volunteered anything had been on the way home, when he told them what Jack
had done, and what he had told him. The three of them had stared at him,
unsure of how to respond, but Justin himself had punched the car door in
frustration, telling them he wished he had been able to do something, that
he wished he hadn't fucked things up so completely that Jack wouldn't talk
to him anymore. Lane had looked away, not wanting to see Justin sorry yet
again, because these days Justin was always sorry.
Of course, that was when people were watching. Lance had no idea how Justin
would react behind a closed door, because he also used to act like Lance's
friend when people were watching. Then, behind a closed door, he was
someone else, something else entirely, someone Lance didn't know, and
didn't want to know. Justin had apologized, had said he was sorry and that
things had just gone too far, but he'd said that in front of everyone else,
too. Lance had never spoken to him privately since then, had never been
alone in a room with him, or anywhere, since that day when Jack had
confronted Justin. He had no idea how Justin would react, but he had to
find out, for Howie, and for himself.
"Is everything ok?" Justin asked, stepping back, making sure he wasn't
right next to Lance.
"I want to talk to you," Lance said quietly, lifting his chin a little so
that he was eye to eye with Justin.
"Um, ok," Justin said uncertainly, and Lance realized what was wrong.
"Jack knows I was coming over here," Lance said carefully. "He knows that
this was my idea, not yours."
"OK," Justin said, stepping aside to let Lance in. "Do you, um, should I
leave the door open?"
"No, please close it," Lance said.
He hadn't thought that Justin would be afraid to let him in, but he
realized that maybe Justin had some trust issues, too. If Lance came
running out of here crying, everyone would blame Justin, no matter what
went on or whose fault it was. Joey and Chris were eyeing him suspiciously
yesterday, as if wondering if he had somehow tricked Jack into kissing
him. Even though he knew it was wrong, Lance felt a little twinge of power.
Maybe Justin didn't always have the upper hand after all.
"How is Jack?" Justin asked. He leaned back against the wall by the door,
crossing his arms, watching as Lance sat down on the couch.
"He's good," Lance said, watching Justin, noticing that Justin put himself
as far from Lance as he could while staying in the same room. "Going to
talk to Josh. I think they're gonna be ok."
"Oh, that's good," Justin said uncertainly. He continued leaning against
the wall, watching Lance, waiting.
Lance swallowed, and then decided that he should just ask, just spit it out
and get this over with.
"Are you sorry, Justin?" he asked, looking up at him. "I mean, I know you
said you are, I know you said it just got out of control and you didn't
mean to, but are you really? Are you really sorry?"
A strange expression rippled across Justin's face as he continued to lean
motionlessly on the wall. If Lance didn't know any better, he'd almost say
it was hurt.
"Lance, I don't know how else to say it," Justin said, looking down. "I
don't know how many more times I can tell you I'm so, so sorry for what I
did."
"Do you think about it?" Lance asked, curious. "Do you think about it
sometimes?"
"Lance, what else can I do?" Justin asked. "What else can I say to make you
understand how bad I feel about this?"
"You could answer my question," Lance said. "Do you think about what you
did?"
Justin looked up at Lance, and then down again.
"Lance, I think about it a lot," Justin admitted, uncrossing his arms. "I
think about it every day. I talk about it with the guy that I go to, for,
you know, my therapy, but Lance, I think about it so much. If I could do
something, anything, I'd do it, anything to go back and take that away. I'd
give up anything to make that not happen, Lance."
As he said this Justin stepped away from the wall, holding his hands out
imploringly in front of him, and Lance pressed himself back into the couch.
"Don't do that!" Lance said sharply. "Please, don't, just don't come closer
to me."
"I'm sorry," Justin said, leaning against the wall again. "I forgot, I
didn't realize that you might not want me near you. Lance, what happened to
us?"
"You happened to us," Lance said, not sure how Justin could even ask that.
"You hurt me."
"I know," Justin said quietly, still looking down. He didn't want to look
Lance in the eyes, didn't want to see what he'd done. He faced it every
day, every time he saw himself in the mirror, but he didn't want to see it
in Lance, too. "I just meant, how did we get that far? Weren't we all
friends once?"
Lance sighed, looking at his hands.
"Maybe we were, but things change, Justin," Lance said. "People turn out
not to be the people you thought they were, even your friends."
"Lance, I told you, I'd give anything to take it back, to not have done
it," Justin said, throwing his head back in frustration. He kept his eyes
closed. "I wasn't thinking. I wasn't, I wasn't me then, Lance. I was all
caught up, and I was angry, and before I knew it I was hurting you, and
telling myself it was ok. Lance, I wish I'd never done it. You have to
believe me."
"No, I don't," Lance said, watching Justin. Justin looked upset, he looked
sorry, he looked anguished, but Justin had looked like a lot of things
before. "I don't have to believe anything you tell me. Why did you do it,
Justin? Just tell me that. Tell me why."
Justin's chest heaved as he kept his back against the wall. He balled his
hands into fists, and pounded one backward to strike the plaster. He felt
his eyes burning.
"Lance, I told you, I was angry," Justin began.
"No, that's not what I mean," Lance said, cutting him off. Lance felt his
own eyes watering as well. "Why that, Justin? Why did you do that, and why
that way?"
"Because I knew," Justin said, finally looking at him. Justin's shoulders
slumped, and his eyes looked flat, like blue stones. "Because I knew. I
told you, I always saw you watching me. I knew that you'd do it if I pushed
you enough."
Lance stared at him, his mouth hanging open. He felt rage bubbling up
inside him.
"But why that way?" he asked quietly, coldly, his voice sharp and cold.
Justin flinched at the tone in his voice, and Lance stood and began walking
toward him, feeling anger building inside of him. "Why that way, Justin?
You could have done anything, could have hurt me a thousand different
ways. Why did you make it like that? Why did you make it so dirty?"
"Lance, I'm sorry," Justin said, turning away. Lance stepped right up next
to him, his face red, twisted now with fury.
"Answer me!" Lance yelled, spittle flying out of his mouth. "God damn it,
Justin, just fucking tell me why!"
"Because I knew it would hurt you!" Justin yelled. He seemed to collapse in
on himself against the wall, slumping against it. Lance was so surprised he
stepped back, momentarily forgetting the rage he'd had a second earlier. "I
was so mad that you hurt Josh and Jack that I wanted to hurt you back, and
I knew that would hurt you. And that's what I live with, Lance. That's what
I carry inside me, that's what I think about every day, every time I see
you!"
Lance took another step backward, staring at Justin. Justin's eyes were
wide open now, fixed on Lance, bulging and glistening wet.
"That's what I have to think about! Knowing that I hurt my friend, knowing
that I did it deliberately, and that I liked it!" Justin screamed, his
voice climbing. "Every time I see you I know that you hurt Josh and Jack,
and that I hurt you a thousand times worse, and that I liked it! That's
what I think about, Lance, that's what I have inside, and how do you think
that makes me feel?"
"Why should I care?" Lance yelled. "Why should I give a damn about your
feelings? You feel guilty? Good! You deserve to! Is that supposed to make
me feel better? Is that supposed to make me feel less ashamed? What am I
supposed to do, Justin?"
Lance turned away, and then heard Justin behind him, his voice cracking.
"Hit me," Justin said quietly.
"What?" Lance asked, turning around. Tears were streaming down Justin's
face, and he took a step toward Lance before dropping, collapsing to his
knees on the carpet.
"Hit me!" Justin yelled. His voice, so loud, rang in Lance's ears, filled
with pain. Lance heard doors opening and closing outside. "Hit me, Lance!
Kick me! Use your belt, use your hands, I don't care! Hurt me, Lance! Hurt
me until you don't hurt anymore! Hurt me as much as I hurt you, or worse
than I hurt you! Hurt me until this all goes away, and I don't have to feel
this way inside any more!"
Lance stared down at Justin and felt his hands closing into fists. Justin
was so small now, so weak. It would be so easy.
"What are you waiting for?" Justin yelled, sobbing, rocking back and forth
on his knees. He slapped his chest. "Here I am, Lance! Hit me!"
Lance stepped toward Justin, pulling his fist back. He could see it, in his
mind, could see himself hitting Justin, hitting him again and again,
raining blows on him. He could see himself hitting Justin, and kicking
him, could see Justin's beautiful face broken, his body bruised. He could
see Justin bleeding and defeated on the carpet, and could see himself
standing above Justin with bloody knuckles. He could see it, and pulling
his fist back, he wanted it. All the rage inside him bubbled up, surging
outward, and he wanted to do it.
But what then?
Lance grabbed Justin's shoulders, pulling him up, as Justin sobbed and
cried without restraint, like a small child. Lance pulled him up, and
wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close even as he realized that he
was crying as well. Outside the door, he could hear Joey and Chris, but he
ignored them as he hugged Justin to him. Justin's arms flew up, snaking
around Lance as Justin cried into Lance's shoulder.
"No, Justin," Lance said, blinking away the tears streaming from his own
eyes. "We've hurt each other enough."
Justin couldn't answer. He could only continue to cry against Lance as
Lance held him tightly, and that's how Chris and Joey found them when they
opened Justin's door. The two of them stared uncertainly at the strange
picture before them, their faces wearing comically matching expressions of
jaw dropping surprise.
"Guys?" Chris asked.
"Is, uh, everything ok?" Joey asked.
Lance looked at them over Justin's shoulder. Justin seemed not to notice
them at all, sobbing into Lance's shoulder that he was so, so sorry.
"It will be," Lance answered.
***
I climbed into the back of the cab, wondering if maybe I should stay and
wait for Lance to get back from Justin's apartment, to see if he' be ok. I
realized that it was just a stall tactic, more of my own
procrastination. If Lance wanted to go talk to Justin, he could do it fine
without me. I had problems of my own to solve.
"Where to?" the cabbie asked.
"Westwood Memorial," I answered. "It's over on Wilshire?"
"I know where it is," the cabbie answered, shaking his head.
I decided I'd have to throw him a bigger tip, since I'd just inadvertently
insulted his intelligence and knowledge of his own city. Then again, no one
actually seemed to be from Los Angeles, so the city was probably just as
much mine now as his. Traffic was light, as traffic here went, and we soon
reached the cemetery. I had him drop me off, and I turned to the cemetery,
wondering which part I'd find Josh in.
I didn't know for sure that he was here, of course. He hadn't exactly told
me where he was going, just that he needed to think and that I would know
where to find him. I began to walk along the paths, looking around, knowing
that it wouldn't take long because really this place wasn't that big, and
then I saw him. He was sitting with his back to me on a bench, his
shoulders down, holding a bag of popcorn from a street vendor between his
outstretched legs. There was a little crowd of birds around him on the
sidewalk, and every few seconds he would toss them a couple pieces of
popcorn. I walked up behind him, watching the way his t-short clung to him,
the way his shoulders danced every time his arm moved to toss out another
handful. His hair peeked out from under the fisherman's cap he wore, little
brown wisps that I knew would be curly if he pulled the hat off.
I sat down next to him, and he slowly turned his head to look at me, his
lips curving up in a smile, but he didn't show me any teeth. His eyes were
obscured behind square blue glasses, visible, but robbed of their depth of
color. He threw another handful of popcorn at the birds.
"I don't think you should do that," I said quietly.
"I didn't see any 'don't feed the birds popcorn' signs," Josh said,
shrugging.
"Yeah, but I saw this Hitchcock movie," I said, shrugging. I reached into
the bag and pulled out a handful, tossing a couple pieces to the birds as
well.
"So now you're doing it?" Josh asked, smiling again.
"You get clawed and pecked to death, I might as well go with you," I said,
shrugging again.
"I missed you," Josh said, staring at me.
"I missed you, too," I answered, sighing. "I ran right over here without a
shower, even."
"Must be the end of the world," Josh said, laughing. "So, we going to talk
about it now?"
I sighed, looking at his hands again. He was still wearing my ring.
"I don't know, Josh," I said. "I've been really stupid these past couple
days."
"I'll say," Josh said, shaking his head. His voice was warm, but
level. "I'd say kissing Justin was pretty stupid. Even he seemed to think
so."
I swallowed hard, almost choking on a piece of popcorn. Of all the things I
would have expected Josh to say, that wasn't one of them. I looked at his
face, and saw that he still looked impassive, still warm and kind of
friendly. Why wasn't he angry? Why didn't he look upset? And how the hell
did he know?
"You know about that?" I asked, hearing my own voice shake. Justin had said
he would let me tell Josh that. "Justin told you?"
"He didn't have to, Jack," Josh said, throwing out another smattering of
popcorn. "I saw it. I watched you leave, and then I saw Stan leave, and I
realized he was going to go say something to you, so I went to go find
you. I was walking down the hall, and I saw Justin in the doorway of the
kitchen, and then I heard him."
"He knew you were there?" I asked. Was that the only reason why Justin had
suddenly turned into a friend again? Because he knew Josh was watching?
"Nope," Josh answered, shaking his head. "He never saw me. All I could see
were his shoulders and his butt. His head was all the way in the door,
talking to the two of you. I heard what he said, and what Stan said, and
then I saw Stan leave. I was going over to see if you were ok, and to thank
Justin for watching your back, and I looked in the doorway and I saw you
kiss him."
I looked down, unsure of what to say.
"Josh, I'm sorry," I said. "I don't know what else to say. I mean, I can't
really tell you I didn't mean to, because you were listening, so you know I
did, but I thought it was a really good idea at the time."
"I know," Josh said, watching me. "I heard everything you said to Justin,
and I heard what he said, too. Justin was right, you know, which I guess is
why I'm not mad at you. You were upset, and confused, and it probably did
look like the best way out to you. I don't understand, though, why you want
out. Jack, why can't you stay with me?"
"Josh, you and I have talked about the things that you've lost by being
with me," I said. "You and I have talked about how I don't want you to
give things up for me, how I don't want you to lose anything, to regret
anything, because I'm with you, and that's what I've been thinking
about. Peyton gave up everything he had when he and I got together."
"Jack, I love you," Josh said. "Maybe some things have changed since I
decided that, and maybe some things are different, but that's not a bad
thing. I'm not losing anything. And if I have given up some things, so have
you. That's what love is, Jack. That's part of being who we are, and
deciding to be a pair instead of just us. Love is about sacrifice,
Jack. And how can you even compare what I've given up? How can you think
I'd even care about a few lower record sales? You just gave up your whole
life for me. I mean, yeah, you're going to recreate it, you're going to
build something for yourself in Orlando, but you just gave up your job, and
your house, to come be with me. Do you know what that means to me?"
"Josh, it's the least I could do," I said.
Josh put an arm around my shoulders.
"Jack, we're never going to be honest with each other until we're honest
with ourselves, and you've been lying to yourself all along," Josh said. I
looked at him. "You've told yourself all along that you weren't really to
blame for Peyton, and underneath, you've always kind of thought you
were. You don't have to say that, Jack. I know. And I know that's why
you've been so upset, because I'm willing to bet that's what he told you at
the hospital. I'm right, aren't I? All he wanted to do was hurt you, and he
did, by convincing you, once again that you did it all to him. And you've
always kind of thought you did this to me, too."
"But I did, Josh," I said, shaking my head. "I kissed you."
"Yeah, you did," Josh agreed. "Then you said you were sorry, and then I
kissed you back. Did you catch that part? I kissed you back. And then,
after you left, I followed you. After I found you, and you wanted to take
it slow, I pushed. After you wanted me to sit back and be comfortable, I
went ahead and told the guys, and my family, and the world. It was always
me, Jack, always. I pursued you. If anything, you tried to stop me. How
can you not see that?"
"But Josh," I began, but couldn't find any other words. I hadn't looked at
it from that perspective. Even if I did think I was ruining Josh's life, I
had tried to stop it, had tried to slow him down, and he was right. He
always went ahead and made his own decisions. "Josh, I don't know how I
lost sight of all of this."
"I do," Josh said, holding me tightly to him. "Jack, in the past two weeks,
your entire life has suddenly become public domain. We can't go anywhere
without someone looking at us, or hearing someone talk about us. To top it
all off, you just gave up everything you know, everything that's familiar
to you, for me. You're drifting, and instead of letting me be your anchor,
you pushed me away, too."
"I'm sorry, Josh," I said, feeling my eyes water. He was right. "I know
that you're here for me."
"Only if you reach out for me," Josh said. "Jack, sometimes you just have
to let go. I know you trust me, Jack, but you have to trust yourself. You
have to stop worrying about what you think you're going to do to me. The
only way you'll ever hurt me is if you stop loving me."
Staring at him, looking into his eyes, seeing nothing there but concern for
me, and warmth, and love, I listened to what Josh was saying, really
listened, and then I let go. Resting my head on his shoulder, I let it all
out. I let go of all of my guilt over Peyton and over Josh. I let go of the
blame I was holding for Lance and Justin, and everything else. Josh held
me, wrapping me in his arms, and rocked gently back and forth, running his
hands over my back. I cried softly against his chest while he whispered
that it would be ok, and the bag of popcorn fell over on the ground,
spilling across the sidewalk as the birds swarmed through it at our feet.
"Josh, I'm sorry," I sighed, getting myself back under control. "I'm sorry
I lost myself, and almost lost you."
"Don't be sorry anymore, Jack," Josh said. "Stop looking behind us. Can you
do that for me?"
"Yeah, I think I can," I answered, leaning in to kiss him, softly, on his
lips. "I love you, Josh."
"I love you, too," he answered, standing. "Now let's get you home, ok?"
"OK," I answered, allowing him to lead me by the hand.
We were going home. Home, as they say, where the heart is, where my heart
was. Home, wherever Josh was.
***
Tune in tomorrow. :)